


Tainted

by deliriouslyshipping



Series: T'Cherik Drabbles [6]
Category: Black Panther (2018)
Genre: M/M, alternate ending of a sort, alternate script in general tbh, still parallel to the original however
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 09:24:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14565987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deliriouslyshipping/pseuds/deliriouslyshipping
Summary: I saw this AU where it says every person has a black “stain” on their skin, which represents where their soulmate first touches them (and the stain changes into all of the colors before fading), and I liked it. It has a twist on it though so boom.





	Tainted

**Author's Note:**

> I saw this AU where it says every person has a black “stain” on their skin, which represents where their soulmate first touches them (and the stain changes into all of the colors before fading), and I liked it. It has a twist on it though so boom.

When T’Challa first met Nakia, he prayed to Bast that she was on the one, that this stain on his upper arm will finally be rid of. He spent so much time with Nakia and he duly noted every single time that her body came in contact with him. 

But it never happened. The marking of his body never transformed and Nakia was not the one. T’Challa never gave up, even when she left to pursue her War Dog missions. T’Challa loved only her; no one else could possibly take the Nakia sized hole in his heart. 

Then his Baba died. Everything felt as if it was ripped from him suddenly and his breath was knocked from him. T’Challa was soon to be crowned King. He immediately sought to Nakia, anchoring her support through this. And she came and did just that, but he felt the familiar tug of the incoming mate. Her touches, though the one thing T’Challa needs the most, was not full of hope anymore. Her hands were warm, intertwined with his, but T’Challa had accepted that it was not her. He gripped her hand tighter with minutes until they reached Wakanda. 

-

“I want the throne,” and tense was not a strong enough word to represent the aura of the room. T’Challa stared intensely at N’Jadaka-Erik Stevens-and the man challenged with his own glare. And despite all of this, T’Challa gets close- too close for any instinct of T’Challa unless it’s-

T’Challa replies, focusing himself on the scene before him rather than get caught up in his thoughts. When all is done, he walks back to his seat, his throne, playing with the necklaced ring on his finger. Chaos begins around him and Mother and Shuri look desperately to him, but he cannot take his eyes off of N’Jadaka. 

“I accept your challenge.”

-

As N’Jadaka removes his shirt, spitting out some unecessary speech, T’Challa catches his black mark. Right in the middle of his evenly scarred chest, one single line right at his heart. T’Challa feels himself curious, even drawn to it, but now is not the time. He looks back up just as his cousin says “just so I can kill you,” knife pointed straight in his direction. Honestly-T’Challa doesn’t know if he is going to come out of this without alive some serious injuries, if he comes out. T’Challa composes himself, aligning himself in a defensive position.

He cannot afford to die. 

-

And he doesn’t die. He almost does, but it is by Bast’s grace and M’Baku that he managed to survive. He could not remember what it felt like as he fell or when he hit the water, but he could never forget telling his father, his ancestors, that they were wrong. He must right the wrongs and he cannot go to the Ancestral Plane. 

It hurt worse than anything N’Jadaka afflicted onto his body. 

He prepares for battle. Wakanda is in its first civil war since the Jabari left for the mountains many years ago. This time he is confident; he cannot let N’Jadaka win again. Too much has occurred and he doubts that Bast will allow him another chance to live. 

They fight where the train passes, bodies colliding against each other and clangs of their weapons piercing their ears. T’Challa feels wrong somehow in doing this, and they spark a brief conversation in the midst of trying to kill each other. 

“.. took everything from me!” And T’Challa hurts for him. He schools his expression, knowing that this is the now or never moment. One of them will die here. The train passes and they return to their battle, ferocity and intent in their bones. 

The blade goes in the air and T’Challa plans it perfect. The blade enters his chest and T’Challa thinks this is the moment where he breathes easier. Instead it is worse. 

The blade is directly in the center of the mark. A perfect fit. N’Jadaka coughs and grips his arm, but T’Challa can only look at the mark. He sees the arrangement of colors before it is gone and his arm the same. Tears prick his eyes and he looks at N’Jadaka and he knows too. He has to know by the look in his eyes.

“That was one hell of a move, cuz.” 

-

T’Challa carries him to the edge of panther rock and he cannot kill his soulmate. Why did it have to be him? 

“N’Jadaka-” 

“Don’t,” his cousin snaps, “finish it before I do it myself.” 

“I cannot.” N’Jadaka’s laugh is pained and harsh, and T’Challa’s heart wrenches at causing this.

“That’s why you are a shit King. Too soft for your own good.”

This wasn’t some romantic “wow” moment where they can smile at each other and live happily ever after. N’Jadaka, his cousin, his soulmate, is dying right in front of him. 

“Just bury me in the ocean with my ancestors that jumped from the ships. Because they knew death was better than bondage.” T’Challa wants to protest, but lets his soulmate rip the blade from his chest. 

He falls onto the floor. His head and his heart hurts. He had not felt this hurt since he held his dead father, but this… 

T’Challa thought for a solid second before rushing to shove beads into the wound. He would not let this happen, he couldn’t. Despite the sudden ache in his body, he lifts the deadweight of N’Jadaka. He carries him back to the battlefield for everyone to see. 

He makes eye contact with W’Kabi, but no one else. The range of emotions that cross between them is too much. Too much when the supposed love of his life is as close to dead as he can be and Wakanda is in ruins. 

“Shuri, you must save him.” T’Challa demands and he watches his sister’s anger peak. 

“Save him? I should kill-” but he raises his arm, his now bare arm to her. Her eyes fleet to N’Jadaka’s chest as it registers slowly. 

“Oh Bast,” but the anger is still there. Okoye catches up to him and her reaction is merely the same. 

T’Challa cannot stay to wait for him to wake up. He cannot wait for another Wakandan native to saunter in to take the throne. All T’Challa can do is wait, rebuild Wakanda and consider N’Jadaka’s intentions heavily. 

Wakanda does need to help the world, and it may not be the easiest decision to accept, but it is the right one. There are millions of people like N’Jadaka: angry, willing to kill to get to their view of peace. And T’Challa, Wakanda, will help rebuild.

It is the one thing he owes his soulmate, who undoubtedly will try to kill him when he wakes. But part of him is anxious for it, to see him alive and breathing, for he may have pierced a blade into his chest, but N’Jadaka pierced something that’ll stay. Something that will grow. 

Something that Bast chose especially for him to have, whether he was ready or not. 

T’Challa inhales deeply, closing his eyes. When he opens them, the world is different, yet too much the same.


End file.
